Lights go down
by Swamy
Summary: Post Season 5 finale. There's nothing left for them anymore. But each other.


The white that swallows them is so overwhelming that in that instant every thought crumbles inside his mind, burnt into ashes, yet his fingers gripping Bonnie's never loosen, for holding on to her slender fingers, to her tiny hands, is not a decision, not an idea. The short moment, almost pathetically predictable, in which the bright light captures them seems to stretch in every inch of him building him into infinity, like he's just a single ring in a chain. The sensation is as short as violent and once it's over they both fall to the ground, on their stomachs, crawling like worms regurgitated by their own world.

His eyes blink, trying to adjust to the new light, the process is slow and for a moment there's only dark. Dark and the warmth of Bonnie's palm against his, fingers intertwined so strongly he can feel the pumping of her blood under the soft skin.

"Damon…" her voice is breathless, and her hold on his hand doesn't appear to loosen, while their arms lay stretched on the ground

"I'm here," he says, trailing closer to her.

"I can't see you," she says as his vision clears up and he finds her staring into his face, without finding him. She's keeping panic at bay, her brain working fast; he can see that behind her green, useless eyes.

"Give it a moment," he tells her, "give it a moment. They didn't economize on the light bulbs," he adds in a light tone watching her mouth curve into a smile. The air smells of nothing, and she's so real that he doesn't think he has to even turn to see where the hell they are.

Damon wants to tell her to breathe slowly, but then again they are both dead so that doesn't seem like a very useful suggestion. He watches her blink and blink, following invisible lines on his face.

"Damon…"

"What? What do you see?"

"An asshole," she replies with a grin.

"Well, we didn't lose our humor… I was _dying_ for some good news," he says, pushing himself up with one hand and pulling her with the other. It takes him a moment more to realize that he can actually let go of her hand now.

She covers the embarrassment for their mutual, inspected need of comfort looking about herself, "So we're actually-"

One of Damon's eyebrows curves up as he grimaces, "In the middle of nothingness?" he asks, "You go to bed early, always brush your teeth and sacrifice yourself, and this is what you get?"

All around them there's burnt land, with no end in sight, pierced by a soft, cold glow, which makes everything look muffled and surreal.

"I'm actually surprised we are still…" She stops before she can say the word.

"Alive?" he presses, turning to her. She brings two fingers up, in the hollow between the windpipe and the large muscle in the neck, pressing way more then she is supposed to. She feels like she could actually make a hole in her neck and not find a thing. Not bones, not blood, not a shadow of herself.

"It's probably safe to say that we're departed. I hope my brother comes up with a good epitaph. For yours they will probably recycle the one they used last time."

The punches she gives him in the middle of his chest are not strong but take him by surprise, "Aren't we a little oversensitive?" he asks, irritated "I wasn't trying to offend you."

"Did you feel it?" she asks, half hopeful, half fearful about what that might mean.

"Yes, I felt it."

"What about this?" she asks, taking his hand in hers and bringing it up to make him touch the hollow under which should beat the carotid pulse.

They always had some sort of unspoken rules about this. They do not touch each other unless is strictly necessary or one of them is actually dead, which, he supposes, is why the rule is brushed aside now so very easily. It still stuns him into silence for a moment, but she's looking at him with her wide eyes and he must look back at her. The gentleness of her eyes and the reminiscence of her heart beating strongly feel like a wordless echo through his whole being. It's a glimpse of absolute staring at him right in the face and his first instinct is to hide, so he pulls his hand away abruptly.

She saw something too, of that he is sure, for she does not protest nor dare to look at him again. Sarcasm and lies do not hide them anymore, it seems, and skin and bones are nothing but a frail veil on their soul. Just one look, a little deeper, a little longer, and she'll know the bottom of his shame, all the desolation of his heart.

"There are other things we need to make sure, other than how dead we are."

"Right," she agrees, way faster than he is used to.

He walks, with her right at his side, with a safe distance between them just because. The land is dry, frail, sometimes he can feel himself slightly sinking in the dirt, his feet leaving an engraved footstep as trace of his passage.

They have no destination, or direction to take but none of them say the words aloud, because they are not ready to face the possibility that this might be _it_, forever. Just walking around in an empty land, with one choice to make, being both part of nothing and let any thought and awareness leaves them. Or maybe, with just one look, a little deeper, a little longer, find another way into this.

After what's probably more than one hour of walking silently he gives up and takes a glimpse of her. The color of her skin, the texture of her hair, is the most vivid thing in that goddamn place, and it's not like she actually wanted for that strange, awkward stare-into-your-soul accident to happen.

"You're not very communicative today,"

"I didn't think you were eager to communicate with me."

"What made you think that?" he asks, with a spirited attitude. "I was just about to ask you what's the secret of your skin care regimen, you have this _otherworldly_ glow about you," he says with a wink, gaining the ghost of a smile.

Well, it didn't go so bad, he thinks. If they're actually stuck together forever he can at least make-

The ground caves in under his feet. A hole grows around him as the land just crumbles, growing larger and larger until it stops in front of Bonnie's feet.

There's a scream and the air is filled with dust as he finds himself holding on to the border of the hole as the ground is trying to swallow him. He sees her little hands on his own, trying madly, frantically to keep him there, "Don't let go, okay? Don't."

"I'm not stupid," he protests, despite the effort, "Fuck."

"Can't you try harder?" he says, as she tries to pull him towards her.

She has no breath to reply for the pull from the ground gets stronger.

"Damon!" Instead of pulling him up, she's letting him drag her down with him but still she doesn't let him go. The possibility, he knows, doesn't even cross her mind. He can feel a shoulder dislocating in the poor attempt to save him and though he can't read the pain on her face, because of the effort she making to concentrate on saving him, he can hear it in the growl.

"Bonnie," he calls her. It makes her only panic more, because that's her name and he uses it only when they are about to die, which is about to happen twice in one day, it seems.

"I'm trying," she says, her voice desperate and angry, "I'm-" Her knees go weak under her but before she can be dragged under he lets her hands go. He slips down so fast she doesn't even blink for the fear she will lose sight of him forever the moment she does. His legs are completely swallowed, and then his stomach and then his chest, but he catches on a dried root that crops up from the ground just before it's too late.

Bonnie gasps, on her knees, bringing one hand to her forehead, almost on the verge of crying. He looks up at her, stunned to be still there.

"It's hell," he says, grave.

"I know, it's like-"

"No, Bonnie," he corrects her, his voice unnaturally serious, "under me. It's hell."

She feels her heart sinking down in her chest, finds no good word to offer, nor any will to really find them.

"It's not like I ever regretted all the shit I've done. I've been egotistical and willful all my life. Not even Elena made me a better person," he says, as the land makes no move to swallow him or spit him out. A stillness that scares her even more, because now is not the ground that's giving way under her, it's Damon.

"This is not the time to question your choices," she replies, anger and desperation boiling up inside her. Why did he suddenly decide to ruminate on his wrongdoings? Being so close to hell makes people like this?

"Why not? I can't come up from the bottom I've reached."

She trembles and tries to concentrate, "Keep the philosophy for another day, and close your eyes."

"You want to give me a peepshow as farewell gift?" he asks, irony making the whole situation only more surreal and scary.

"No, I'm going to save you," she says, trying to crush the ground in front of her with her bare hands, trying to find another branch of the root he's holding on to. Dirty keeps falling down on him, making him blink away the dust.

"You know I'm only-"

"I know all there is to know!" she screams, "You've done your worst and you've done it _to me_," she accuses him, keeping her eyes on her task, "so congratulations on your newfound conscience. But you need to be alive to repent," she explains, trying to calm herself down. It's really no use because she feels tears trying to spill out, and she's too tired to stop them.

"Damon," she says, threatening, swallowing down the tears that are already wetting her eyes, "I swear, if you leave me alone, I'm gonna…"

He's too scared to see her crying - and worse - terrorized that if he looks at her a little more he'll see the spring of her tears, the shape of her heart, so he closes his eyes and scolds her, "Then, com'on, pull me up."

But, when she seems to have found a branch of the root to hold onto as she tries to reach down to him the ground starts moving again, blowing up like a balloon full of hot air. He thinks hell is claiming him for good, and he'll spend the rest of eternity being tortured as he thinks of Bonnie alone in this bitter desert – that, he fears, will be the worst part of all - but then he gets shoved out from a gust of hot water. The hole fills up and overflows, driving him out, until he finds himself pushing his wet hair back from his forehead, staring into Bonnie's face.

His nose drips stupidly because of the water and he tries to make it stop using the back of his hand to brush it away.

"The temperature is _perfect_ for a relaxing bath, wanna try?" he asks her.

Her stunned expression crumbles into an hysterical laughter. He watches her fall on her back and laugh it out.

"Everything will be okay, you know," It is such a big lie that whoever it is that rules in this place will not even put it on the list of all his sins, because even children would be able to tell it's not truth, still he wants to comfort her somehow and he doesn't know how else to do that.

He takes the hip flask from the inside pocket of his leather jacket and fills it up with some clean water, before the ground can absorb it all. He can't feel any hunger but his mouth is dry despite his recent dip.

"Everything will be okay."


End file.
